


explosions and hammerburst

by cptsuke



Category: Gears of War (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4427654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptsuke/pseuds/cptsuke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a routine mission gone wrong told in three parts.<br/>Rojas. Baird. Cole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rojas

**Author's Note:**

> ive been sitting on this thing for three goddamned years, when i hit three thousand words i foolishly thought i was near the end.  
> anyway. labour of love etc.

 

 

Rojas doesn’t like Baird.

 

He doesn't like him, but sure does appreciate him. Don’t need to like a man to find him useful. And while Baird seems to go out of his way to make himself unlikeable, he sure as hell knows how to make himself useful.

 

The corporal in question is ahead of the rest of Alpha, studying something that's hooked up to the piping that runs the hall's ceiling. Baird's eyes narrow a little more as he takes one last good look at it; his face starting to scrunch up like he's no more pleased to find the mission validated than he would be if this whole thing was a total bust, like he hasn't spent the last hour bitching about shitty intel.

 

"Well, the good news is there's definitly Locusts activity here, so this isn't a complete wild goose chase." He announces too loudly - like he's a goddamned game show host - because he's an asshole like that.

 

 _Don't like him,_ Rojas thinks, steadfastly ignoring the deepening frownlines in the Corporal's brow. He looks to be winding himself up for a long derogatory bitch about.

 

But whatever opinion he's about to share is halted as he looks sharply back at Private Gyules, real anger on his face instead of his usual disgruntled annoyance.

 

"Hey! Gyules! Don't touch -"  


 

A deafening roar and then black.

 

 

Rojas comes back to himself, still on his feet but his mind whited out by the shockwave. The passage in front of them is no more, bricks and broken masonry blocking it completely.

 

Gyules is shaking his head near a pile of rubble; his head tilts and he shakes it again.

 

Deafened from the blast, Rojas guesses, content to let him be for the moment.

 

“Baird!” Cole’s shout jolts Rojas to attention.

 

Rojas looks around, finger already going up to his comms; they’re missing a Gear and the last place he’d been was now occupied by a ton of concrete.

 

“Corporal!”

 

Silence in the form of static crackling is the only reply.

 

Rojas pulls his nearest Gear to his feet; Private Kelly; baby faced and always carrying around a pocket full of snapshots of his children.

 

Cole’s hauling at the rubble, if it were anyone else Rojas might call it panicked, but there’s nothing frantic in his movements, just methodical rubble clearing. If it were anyone else Rojas would say he was almost calm, but it’s Cole with his muscles are straining hard against concrete that won’t budge and there’s something crazed in the way he won’t stop.

 

Rojas doesn't like what he's going to have to do if they don't find some sign of Baird. Alive preferably, for Cole's sake if no one else's.

 

“It’s okay, I’m okay, fuck. I thought we built this shit to last.”

 

Cole’s finally stopped scrabbling at the rubble, muscles loosening as the sound of Baird’s voice crackles through the comms. He places a palm on the stones in front him and pushes himself upright.

 

“Corporal, report!” Rojas demands.

 

“You okay, Baird?” Cole asks like Rojas doesn't exist.

 

“ _God fucking damn it!_ I'm _fine_. Tell Gyules to stop fucking touch things.” Baird sounds more annoyed than anything else, but that could mean anything from hale and healthy to mortally wounded.

 

“Okay, hold position Corporal, we’ll see if we can work our way back to you.”

 

Baird starts bitching as soon as the words leave Rojas' lips, but he just tunes him out and contacts Control for a sitrep.

 

“Control, the mainshaft has collapsed, need a way ‘round.” He glares at the rubble and tries to not to think of how long they have before the whole place goes boom. “Fast.”

 

Control’s impassioned voice asks him to wait one, then answers with “Map shows a secondary shaft, there should be an entrance nearby.”

 

“Copy. Kelly, Gyules find that entrance. Baird, hold tight.”

 

“Yeah, I’m just going to have a look around. See if I’m close to anything interesting.”

 

Interesting being most likely grubs and/or a bomb.

 

“Negative, hold position.”

 

“Look,” And Rojas can practically see Baird standing, hand on hip, face preparing for an epic bitchfit. “This bomb could go off at any moment, I’m not sitting around with my thumb up my ass. Who knows how much of this shithole will be still standing after-“ He can hear the corporal kicking rubble to emphasise his point. “-And even if by some miracle this house of shitty cards is still standing and the grubs only manage to destroy the pump and piping, do you have any idea how hard it will be to fix it? How long it’ll take? And don’t think the _citizens_ at Jacinto are gonna sit pretty and docile when they’ve got no water. Shit, you can’t even change rationing without some fucker having a cry about starving.”

 

Rojas pinches his nose, holds in a sigh, and for brief moment thanks whatever deity is still watching that Cole isn’t stuck on the other side with Baird. Baird’s bad enough by himself but at least he’d hopefully be a little more cautious by himself. Then he immediately feels guilty for feeling happy that one of his men is stuck alone in enemy infested territory.

 

But the fucker does have a point, damn it all, he does have a point.

 

“Okay, but watch your ass.”

 

 _"Yeah, yeah,_ don't do anything too stupid while I'm gone." Baird bitches back, and Rojas grinds his teeth to keep himself from chewing him out. That never works. He's learnt that.

 

 

It feels wrong, Cole, standing at attention without Baird; their odd couple team up and old, long retold tales of fucking shit up, getting themselves in ridiculous situations and still managing to survive the unsurvivable. Their exploits were nearly as infamous as Tai.

 

“I found it! Sir, I think I found it.” Kelly's voice breaks through Rojas' revery.

 

“Hear that? We’re coming to get you, baby!” Cole’s enthusiasm spreads quickly through Alpha, while Baird's tinny response sounds in their ears.

 

"Yeah, yeah, I'll race you to the explosives."

 

"Ha! Yeah, come on Damon baby, you know the Cole Train’s gonna win this race." Cole calls back, hiding his concern beneath a booming laugh.

 

“Do we need to have another chat about proper military radio conduct, Private?” Rojas breaks in before the two of them can really get into their bantering.

 

“Hah!” Baird’s snort of gleeful amusement sounds loudly in his ear as Cole looks vaguely chastised.

 

Vaguely.

 

Rojas restrains a sigh and follows his men towards the new pathway.

 

 

 

 


	2. Baird

 

Baird shakes his head, as the comms go quiet. He’s pretty sure Cole only started calling him baby to annoy him.

And it did.

Until it didn’t.

Besides Cole’s got petnames for everyone he likes, why shouldn’t Baird get one too?

His earbud starts crackling with interference as the rest of Alpha start moving away from him, defiantly trying to connect through the thick walls and heavy metal blocking its usually strong signal.

Baird moves onwards, every second step seeming to elicit a weird creaking from the building around him. But it seems stable enough. It’s not like he has any way of really telling how much damage the explosion had done to its structural integrity.

Nothing to do but keep going.

Grubs are  _definitely_ here and he must be getting closer to  _something_ , because everything for the last hundred foot or so has been decored with Pieces Of Engineer:  In Red.

“Rojas, you copy?”

The buzzing noise from interference is driving him insane, but it's still light, the comms should still be good. If he vaguely remembers the waterstation’s blueprints as well as he thinks he does, Alpha will be taking the long way back round to him; no doubt the radio will get worse before they meet back up.

“Sergeant? You reading me?” He tries again, as something thuds in the distance. Another explosion maybe? Or just the building still shifting from the previous one? He eyes the shifting dust floating down from cracks in the ceiling, _ugh_ , just how unstable is this place now?

“Staticy and hard to hear, Corporal.” Rojas’ voice sounds in his ear.

“Haven’t seen any grubs, but I’m definitely closing in on where they’ve been.”

“Corporal?” Baird likes to imagine the little vein in Rojas’ temple throbbing with irritation.

“I don’t think the walls were originally painted this shade of engineer.”

“Baird, I need you to stay where you are until we meet back up. “ He almost sounds worried. _Cute._

“Sorry, I’m losing you, I’m going through a tunnel!”

Cole snickers in loudly in his ear, and Baird wonders if he can actually  _hear_ Rojas’ eyes rolling.

“You feel that?” He asks - mostly to himself – dust seems to falling harder from the cracks, is the floor shifting?

Rojas says something, static buzzes in his ear, Baird opens his mouth to answer – something snide and annoyed - and for the second time today -  _crack_ \- the ceiling comes tumbling down on him.

  


  


  


He blinks.

There's a weird sensation of coming back to himself, not sure if his eyes are opening or closing.

He coughs, the dust in the air has multiplied by exponentionally but the shifting has stopped. The weird creaking seems to have as well –  _excellent -_ perhaps this shitty building won’t be the death of him.

“Corporal, report.” Rojas’ voice is terse in his ear. There’s something in his tone that makes Baird just _know_ it’s not the first time he’s said it. He shakes his ringing hea d; he’s good - _he’s good -_ but a building did fall on his head, he’s allowed a little leeway for this shit.

“Baird!” Cole’s voice clears the last of the fog clouding his mind.

“Keep your shirt on.” He grumbles for lack of anything better – _smarter_ – to say and hopes Cole hasn’t been  calling him for too long.

“Missed your dulcet tones, baby.” Cole answers, hiding his concern beneath a booming laugh.

He wonders if Rojas is giving Cole the beady eyed look like he expects them to be acting like they're on parade, with some full chested General breathing down their necks.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He grouses, “I’m _fine.”_

Only sort of a lie. He  _is_ fine now his senses are coming back online; stupid fucking collapsing ceiling. Baird stumbles around some debris, wondering how long they’ve been calling for him, doesn’t think it could’ve been too long. Just a few moments of being stunned by the ceiling trying to occupy the same space as his skull. Can’t have been that long, Cole’s voice hasn’t quite reached the timbre it does when he’s calling for someone he knows is dead.

Then again, Cole is stupidly attached to him - geez, you kill a grub near a guy once and suddenly you’re stuck with him for life – so maybe he’d refuse to believe Baird was dead.

Baird tries not to feel too pleased by that idea.

“What happened?” Rojas’ tone is clipped by more than just static, he was definitely worried.

Baird pulls off his goggles, inspecting them as he brushes chips of concrete and dust out of his hair.

“Looks like Gyules’ little explosion fucked up the building more than we thought.”

Rojas spurts off an impressive but totally unprofessional line of profanities that has Baird grinning even as it assaults his ears.

“Didn’t even crack my goggles.” He adds just to hear him swear some more.

“Cor’al nee’ you jus’.”

“What?”

“Bai’ st’ where y’ are!”

“Can't do that, Rojas but I promise if I die, it will be so damned heroic you’ll rename your kid after me and the heavens will welcome me with open arms and bacon.”

“…” Whatever Rojas replies with is lost in a loud burst of static. They must have finally moved out of range. Or the collapse fucked something up. _Pity_ , he’d have liked to hear Rojas’ bitching some more. Winding up that uptight bastard might be the highlight of his day.

“Lieutenant - if you can hear me – I’m going to keep moving.”

  


  


  


He moves as steadily and quietly as he can. He must be fairly close to the main station room, the walls are laden with heavy piping and thick cabled wires. He’s pretty sure - barring any more explosions – the building won’t be falling down anymore; but he’s also starting to get the feeling that he’s not alone in this piece of the facility.

The grub heading into a doorway up ahead is also somewhat of a giveaway.

He creeps towards it, placing his feet as carefully as he can in the dim emergency lighting.

A grub’s head appears, followed quickly by a swinging hammerburst firing wildly in Baird’s direction.

Baird sprints, firing his own lancer in return as he slides against the wall, crouching low.

The air fills with unaimed bullets; sharp little brickwork and concrete chips fly in every direction.

The locust doesn’t seem to keen to come out of his cover  just to get a clear shot at Baird; just as he can’t get a clear shot of them from where he is.  They're missing for now, but as sure as grubs are ugly, eventually they’re gonna get braver – stupider? smarter? – and take a good look and come to the realisation that Baird  wa s alone and more importantly  _ha_ _d_ _no fucking cover._

With a dead end behind him, the only real choice is forward. Just beyond the doorway an airconditioning unit lays haphazardly across the hallway, knocked over from the explosion perhaps. If he can get to it – _if he can get behind it_ – his angle of fire should be good enough to take out the majority of whatever is in that room.

Baird throws a grenade, aiming it so it hits the doorjamb and bounces inwards; it’d be nice if it took them all out and saved him the trouble, but when has he ever been that lucky?

He hears the loud grunting shouts of alarmed drones but ignores it - just as he ignores the deafening  _boom_ of his grenade going off - and he sprints as low and as fast as his gear will allow him. Bullets slam into the metal plating of the aircon unit as he throws himself over it  and to safety in one efficient - if not particularly smooth – movement. He blindfires back when there’s a slight lull in the shooting,  a familiar annoyed feeling as he realises his grenade has failed to make a significant dent in the grub population of the room before him.

He leans out and fires off a quick succession of semi-aimed bursts of bullets.

Another locust peers out to join the party.

_Boom headshot_ .

The grubs head gives way in a shower of shattered skull and brain matter; Baird would like to say that he’d done that on purpose but the rest of the harmlessly scattered hits from his burst of fire would put that lie to bed pretty quickly. He’s not a goddamned sniper.

He’s at least winged the other, he thinks, but Locusts are tough motherfuckers and in Baird’s experience one body shot is  _never_ enough. And if it’s well enough to move out of line of sight, it’s well enough to shoot him back if he’s not careful. And Baird intends to not get himself killed doing something stupid.

He creeps up to the doorway - keeping his lancer up and aimed – and a locust’s growling alerts him to the incoming barrage of fire in time to get his body tucked behind the cover of the doorjamb.

The deafening sound of gunfire echoes down the halls past him and he bri e fly wonders how badly he’s calling every locust in the nearby area to this one spot.  _Shit_ . He grits his teeth, annoyed, and blind fires through the doorway.  _Fuck it all_ , it’s not like he has a lot of other options right now.

Baird needs to know what’s so goddamned good about this room, why the grubs seem to want to hold it instead of retreating to a place with better cover.

He rounds the corner gun letting off a volley of bullets to discourage anything from doing the same back in his direction and takes a split second look between muzzle flashes.

_Definitely main station room._ _Fan-fucking-tastic._

Theres’s a drone crouching near what looks like a large explosive device and another dragging itself further into the room. A lucky shot to the spine perhaps? Baird scowls as he ducks back into cover, feeling lucky these days usually meant you were about to walk into a trap.

Baird lets the upright locust shoot off a set of unaimed shots and leans around the door again. Bracing his forearm steady against the doorjamb he opens fire, holding his aim as bullets tear into the grub’s thick, chalky grey hide.

It makes a half groaned cry as it falls to the ground. Stepping into the doorway, Baird puts a few more rounds in it, not completely willing to accept it was dead so easily.

With one eye on the downed grub, he finds his attention drifting towards the bomb.

He doesn’t hear the locust.

He’s not too proud to admit to himself that he’s distracted by the bomb nestled up against the piping and massive pump control panels; his mind already cataloguing and calling up every bit of half remembered explosive know-how. Not to proud to admit it to  _himself_ , but he is never letting anyone else know he was so caught up staring at the big shiny bomb to notice a grub getting the jump on him.

The locust comes up behind him. And close - before he knows it and even in his surprise - Baird spins, chainsaw revving; thanking whoever  was  listen ing for the years and years of muscle memory that keeps him alive in that moment and simultaneously pulling a sour face at the t h ought of being  _grateful_ for this shit. 

The locust’s face is grotesque nostril to nose with him - teeth bared like it wants to tear him apart with them – close enough that Baird can choke on it’s rancid breath.

He’d like to say it’s been awhile.

_He’d really like to._

The teeth of the chainsaw bite deep. Tearing at that sweet spot between neck and shoulder; arterial blood spraying every which way.

He doesn’t hear the shots; not between the grub’s roaring pain, the chainsaw’s engine screaming and definitely not over his own deafening heartbeat pounding in his skull.

The grub falls away but Baird’s already stopped paying it attention; he’s dropping to one knee, spine curving unconsciously to protect what’s hurt - even though he can’t  _feel_ it just yet – and spinning to scan the rest of the room, lancer at ready. But there’s no more, just a handful of dead grubs and a dying drone attempting to drag himself away. 

_Uh-uh_ . Not on Baird’s watch.

Getting back to two feet is harder than it should be and now his adrenaline is ebbing away, pain and a weary heavy ache is starting to slow his limbs down.

Keeping his lancer trained on the remaining grub in front of him, Baird uses his free hand to feel where he’s hit. His armour’s breast plate feels intact, which should mean he’s not sporting a sucking chest would –  _hooray_ – but as his hand skims lower it hits sharded armour, all covered in sticky Baird juice. 

_Ugh_ .

Cole was going to flip his shit. Baird will never hear the end of this.

_Fuck_ .

He looks down – briefly,  _quickly –_ not keen on taking his eyes off the downed grub, but unable to not take a quick look at the damage. Not that he can see much past his armour. Just a fair bit of red coating the jagged bits of his broken blue and black armour. 

_Fuck it, forget it, it’s fine for now. Kill the grub first._

Baird stumbles a bit as he closes in on the grub but he keeps himself steady and upright; more out of fear that if he goes down now, he’s not sure he’ll be able to get back up. Standing over the locust, he revs the lancer’s saw, thinking to use it to end this thing’s miserable existance. But his arms already feel leaden and the idea of leaning over to get all up in it’s business to  _chainsaw it to death_ actually makes him want throw up. 

  


So he’s not really thinking when he lifts his foot up and brings it down on the grub’s head.

The flare of  _holy hell righteous fucking pain_ in his side blindsides him and he’s tilting, balance shot all to hell as his muscles refuse to hold him up properly. He finally manages to get himself to a wall, a nice sturdy non moving wall, and slides down it.

_Fuck_ , he breathes; angrily, painfully. It’s hard to breath, each gasp seemingly drawn in by pure spite, but at least it doesn’t feel like he’s drowning. 

That’s got to be good, right?

Baird likes to think he knows the mechanics of the human body pretty good – knows a grub’s better, but that’s the one of the many ‘perks’ of being a Gear – but he gets the body’s functions, the purpose of all the tiny little bits that make it whole; but all that knowledge seems to slipping around his skull just out of grasp as he tries to keep pressure on the gaping hole in his side.

_It’s not_ _that_ _bad_ , he tells himself,  _probably isn’t._ He’s not stupid enough to be one of those guys that buys into false thoughts of invincibility, immortality – he has a healthy fear of dying horribly  _thank you very much_ – and he knows hammerburst wounds are messy at the best of times let alone at close range.

But at least the grub wasn’t carrying a gnasher and Baird’s not in shock. Well, he’s pretty sure he’s not; not cold, hands not – okay, hands shaking a little bit. Probably not enough to throw his aim off, not majorly. So a little bit in shock. But he’s been shot, his fellow  G ears are probably a long way off, he can  _hear_ more grubs out there somewhere, and he’s pretty sure he’s slumped against a bomb, so he’s allowed to be in a little bit of goddamned shock.

He’s a little annoyed at his armour - cracking away and completely unfixable – even though he knows no amount of toughening and laquer was prepared to stand up to several hammerburst rounds at that sort of proximity. He swears at it anyway.

But mostly his brain is occupied in trying to work out why the locust that are no doubt between his team and him aren’t coming to finish him off.

For a moment it was almost as if he’d forgotten what he was even doing here. Caught up in slaughter and mayhem.

_Shit_ .

His mind sits on at the top of a very short list of things he can rely on and trust. The fact that it’s hazy and every thought slips around him like bugs on an ice rink bothers him more than it probably should. Bloodloss will do that to you, and he is surely losing a good amount.

Still. He’s alert, he should be able to keep his thoughts in order. It’s the principle of the matter.

_The grubs._ Baird reminds himself.

_What the fuck are they waiting for?_ He thinks angrily, wishing madly -  _madly -_ that grubs would stop playing Sneaking Where Baird Can't See  Them and just attack so he can kill or die or - the most probable - both.

He wishes Cole would just get here already -  _come on big guy, could really use your_ _**you** _ _-ness -_ what the hell were these grubs waiting on?

They're not stupid enough to not realise that the Locusts he'd killed weren't coming back, why hadn't their buddies come to deal with him?

Unless they were waiting for something. Somethi ng like Rojas and Cole and,  _ahh shit_ . 

Maybe they’re gonna blow the bomb, or maybe they'll just send more grubs. Either way, they're leaving him alone until he's inadvertantly lead more Gears into this killzone.

Baird gets to be the fucking  _bait._

Irrationally - just for a moment - he still wants them to come, wants _anyone_ to come, because he's not sure he can get himself out of this mess even if the halls were clear and there were no grubs anywhere; not fucked up like he is.

Shame burns bright at that thought. Especially when he knows Cole's going to be leading the fucking rescue committee. And he hates himself a little more because of that. Stupid Cole and his inablity to just leave Baird to die in a pool of his own stupidity.

  


Baird groans, Cole wouldn’t even hate him for wanting to come help him despite the obvious trap. Because Cole was good in all the ways that mattered and most of the ways that didn’t and didn’t seem to realise that if all the people like him died saving people like Baird, After - if there ever was an After - wouldn't be much prettier than Now.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

Baird struggles himself upright, gets his feet under him and pushes himself upwards - towards the bomb.

Least he can do is make sure it doesn't go off in all their faces.

  


  


It's a piece of shit. Half locust tech, half stolen human shit, smashed together; quick and dirty but no doubt effective.

_Principles should still be the same_ , Baird thinks, trying to remember every bit of learning he's ever picked up or overheard. 

He's spent a lot of downtime with the sappers - one of the few places where Cole’s ‘Cole-Train’-ness didn’t automatically win him a million best friends; they did n 't much like Gears, but if being unpopular was a thing that bothered Baird he'd spend all his time crying in a corner not _learning shit that will save his life - and the life of every other idiot in Alpha._

He might not have made any friends but he's surly, not stupid but more importantly he learned a fair bit about things that go boom.

First off, there was no one single wire to cut, no specific color either. Every action movie for the past  _forever_ can suck his dick. Like there was some universal bomb making manual that everyone - man and grub alike - adhered to. It'd make this a whole lot less dangerous if there was. 

_But noooo_ , now - more than ever - everyone used whatever they had at hand and the end product didn't need to be pretty as long as it went boom close to the time you wanted it to. The colour of the wires wasn’t important, but what they were attached to? That really mattered. 

He studies the bomb - feeling confident, feeling like maybe he's got this – but just as he's about to start dismantling and he notices something further – deeper – in the piping.

Baird blinks blearily at the device, wiping sweating forehead with bloody hand.

_Be smarter,_ He growls silently at himself, angry with his stupid lagging mind and the fact that he almost made the rookiest of rookie mistake. 

A trailing set of wires lead from the visible bomb to a secondary device - the controlling detonator Baird’s willing to bet – nestled in amongst the pipes, out of sight. Oh, the grubs think they’re being  _clever_ now, life is officially fucked.

Baird groans, wishing Cole was here just so he’d have someone to bitch to and double checks his theory.

It might have been a bitch for the locusts to wedge the detonator in there, but it’s going to be a fucking bastard for Baird to get to it, let alone disarm it.

Without going boom.

Of course.

Sighing his most put upon sigh, Baird leans over the main pipe - half crawling, half pulling himself downwards to the little nook.

  


Something pulls-stretches-tears as he shifts to the  _just so_ position, and for a horrible moment his mind whites out and Baird has a horrible mental image of him passing out here, ass in the air, hanging around waiting to get blown to pieces.

Baird closes his eyes, pulls in a deep breath, holds it for a two count and releases it. Repeats the motion until he can feel his brain categorising the pain and shoving it to the back of his mind as something to deal with later.

He  _hurts._

_So?_

What else is new?

He opens his eyes, taking in the detonator before him. Maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but this shit looks super complicated right now.

Gently shifting wires to get a better look at the main device, he ignores the sinking feeling that,

_(maybe this it)_

_(this could be it)_

maybe this is the thing that gets him; ignores all the little pessimistic voices in favour of putting all his mental energy into contorting into a pretzel to reach close enough to the detonator and do what he has to do.

His face scrunches up - half concentration, half annoyance – the piece of shit looks pretty straightforward. Which in itself has him thinking in circles, he’s already blown himself up in the past – hell he almost did it again not ten minutes ago – Baird’s not really willing to see if third times the charm that sends him off to the great beyond.

Precariously balanced on limbs that don’t seem all that capable of staying steady, he double checks the wires and his admittedly not extensively experienced bomb dismantling know how.

Once he’s double checked – quadruple checked for good measure – Baird tries to reach back to his side pocket to get his trusty, handy pliers. His trusty, handy pliers that are caught up in between his pant’s material, his armour and the fucking pipe. He can barely reach them - twisted up like he is – fingertips gripping onto one handle like a lifeline.

He gives it an experimental tug - hoping for once things will go right and they’ll come free and he can stop playing contortionist next to something that will kill him – but all he gets for his trouble is a knee bashing against hard metal and a stabbing sensation in his side.

He gives himself a moment to recite every curse words he’s ever heard and a few he’s willing to make up for the occasion.

He looks back at the device - checks it out again, fifth time lucky – the knowledge that he’s 99.99% sure he knows what he’s doing warring with his adrenal gland which apparently thinks he’s moments from being blown into tiny little Baird pieces.

He’d  _really_ like that to not happen.

Later he will blame the adrenaline - pounding blood through his skull like it’s own private speeding up countdown – but stupidity brought on by blood loss is as good an excuse as any when he pulls at the main wire, giving it a sharp tug to see how well connected it is.

The detonator comes free in his hand.

Baird blinks at it and very carefully doesn't think about anything.

He uses what seems like the last his strength to push himself backwards and upwards, til the majority of his weight is back on the otherside of the pipe he’s been half hanging off and lets gravity do all the work as he slides all the way out.

Baird sinks back to sit on the ground - head pounding from hanging half upside down –  _just a few moments_ , he tells himself,  _just sit here for a moment or two_ , and then he’ll get up and regroup with Alpha.

  


  


The first thing Baird realises is that he is lying down; which is weird because he wasn’t a moment ago. Or was it longer? He consults his internal clock but it’s useless and handless for all that he can’t work out whether he’s been in this room for twenty seconds or twenty hours or somewhere in between. All options seem equally likely and unlikely.

 

The sound of heavy booted footsteps has him fumbling for his lancer, fingers brushing against the metal as the steady steps turn into a burst of running towards him ones.

 

“Woah,” Someone says as Cole’s hand grips onto the top of breastplate and pulls him upright. It’s gotta be Cole from ease of which he uses his strength to gently move Baird up to a sitting position. Baird might not be built as impressively as Cole, but he still weighs close to a fuckton; not many people could move him without jarring the hell out of the mess he’s had made of his guts.

 

Someone’s saying something but it’s wordless gibberish as far as Baird can tell; so he's content to just ignore it all.

 

Cole’s other hand comes down to rest on on Baird’s shoulder, a gesture meant to comfort for all that he can’t really feel anything but an added weight and a vague patting sound on his armour.  Baird grins anyway and tries to remember how to open his eyes. Or are they already open? He can’t really tell and that’s probably bad. He considers being worried about it for all of a second and then decides to just not. Being annoyed and angry all the time is  _exhausting_ and right now he is too fucking tired to give a shit.

 

A hand presses against his cheek, then taps a sharper slap when he doesn’t react to the first touch.

 

Baird’s eyes open.

 

U _h-huh!_ He thinks to himself, inordinately pleased with himself.

 

Cole’s crouched over him like an over protective mother hen, feathers all ruffled, his face doing that thing with the emotions. Cole has a lot of emotions. Everyone just presumes he’s one ball of happy fucking sunlight – which to be fair, there’s an annoying amount of sunshine and daisies in Cole’s inner self – but there’s untapped depths hidden in the slump of his massive shoulders and worlds in the weary creases of his face.

 

Cole’s emotions make Baird exhausted just looking at them. And he  _definitely_ doesn’t like to be the one responsible for making him feel them. Emotions make Baird feel weird and itchy and helplessly out of depth. 

 

Cole’s mouth is forming words, soothing quiet ones and then loud shouty ones.

 

“It’s fine, it’s fine, you’ll be fine – TANNER GET HERE NOW! – hey, Baird, you with me? You’re good, okay? You’re good. TANNER!”

 

Baird doesn’t have the heart to tell him that all the frantic shouting for the medic has him feeling a little doubtful at the truthfulness of that statement.

 

“Cole,” Rojas, Baird thinks, maybe. “Private!”

 

Definitely Rojas, anger coloring his tone.

 

“You need to _**calm**_ _ **the**_ _ **fuck**_ _ **down.”**_

 

“Heeeey,” his words come out slurred, but at least eighty percent understandable. “You made Rojas swear. I thought I was the only one allowed to do that.”

 

“Baird?” Cole seems surprised that he’s talking, for all that the guy has been speaking to him, “You with me?”

 

“Hey buddy,” Baird pats in the direction of Cole’s forearm area, annoyed by how blurry his vision is but unwilling to attempt some sort of hand manevour to clear them. “I’m good, it’s not even that bad.”

 

He might not even be lying –  _he’s lying_ – he’s probably fine.

 

Figures he’d have to be bleeding out to stop being an asshole.

 

His world tilts and starts tipping as someone bumps into him. Baird narrows his eyes and glares at the new Gear shaped blur that’s getting all touchy feely with him.

 

_Tanner_ , his mind supplies after long moments of annoyed  _what the fuck are you doing, stop fucking touching me, Cole don’t leave me with this asshole._

 

He can feel Cole backing off –  _leaving him_ – his hand shoots out with more accuracy and strength than he managed with the arm patting reassurance, latching onto Cole’s wrist with a grip he’s not ashamed of.

 

“Don’t.” He swallows the rest of his words, pathetic whimpering words but Cole seems to hear them anyway because his hands shifts around Baird’s grip so their hands are wrapped around each other. Baird would roll his eyes if he didn’t think it’d make him pass out.

 

“Not going anywhere, baby.” Cole says, moving out of the Tanner-blur’s way but managing to stick close to Baird’s side.

 

Something horrible is happening to his side, Baird decides, as Tanner hums and sends sharp shooting pains through Baird’s nerves. He’s going to kill him if he does that again. His annoying humming starts up again, almost immediately followed by what seems like his nerves being set on fire.

 

Baird tries to pull his hand free from Cole’s, surely he has the strength to strangle the humming bastard.  Cole hangs on like he knows exactly what Baird’s thinking.

 

Fuck you, Baird tries to communicate through narrowed eyes and lowered eyebrows.

 

The asshole is still humming, poking at him like he’s a slab of meat at the butcher’s and least he could do is buy him a drink first.

 

Cole looks pissed; he can see that through the haze of what is most likely the edge of unconsciousness.

 

“Hey,” His words sound even more slurred now, not good. “Got you a present.”

 

There’s something in his hand, he figures he must be holding onto it for Cole. Or Rojas. Or himself. He’s not sure. He presses it against Cole’s breastplate, trying to distract him from looking so angry, but only managing to intrigue himself. What is that thing, how long has he had it in his hand? It’s hard and metal and it’s got a wire dangling from it. It looks interesting. Maybe he was holding it for himself. His fingers lose grip on it, or maybe they just lose strength, he can’t really feel them any more, he’s not even sure how he’s holding his arm up at this point.

 

The thing drops into Cole’s waiting hand.

 

“Ahh, thanks?” He says – questions? – frowning at Baird and then at the thing in his hand and then back at Baird.

 

 

 

Rojas is scowling at his feet, talking angrily with a finger pressed up against his ear like a bug had crawled in there.

 

“No radio,” Baird says, though he's not sure what that really means. He doesn't like being not sure. He's always sure.

 

But he's not now.

 

“Did something bad happen?” He asks the hands gripping his shoulders.

 

The hands tighten, then loosen when he makes a pained noise, then somehow apologetically squeeze him gently.

 

Cole.

 

_It's Cole, you stupid_ _f_ _uck_ , he tells at himself. Baird tries to get up, because there's something important he needs to say that he can't remember while he's laying on the ground with something fucking horrific being done to him by Tanner.

 

“We gotta get out if here!” Gyules says with fear in his voice as Tanner says _W_ _e got to get him out if here sarge._

 

“The bomb.” Baird says. Because it's important. Or something about it is.

 

“It didn't go off.” He tries again.

 

Cole's hands tighten on him again and when Baird looks up at his face overhead, his expression is far from a happy one.

 

“We gon' talk about that later.” Cole tells him, his face going flat with anger? Disappointment? Maybe worry.

 

Baird squints at him, trying to decipher the ever changing emotions flickering on Cole's face.

 

“Talk about what?” He asks even though he should know. He always knows why Cole's shitty.

 

(it's him, it's him a lot)

 

 

Then he remembers - remembers or gets a fucking epiphany - because suddenly it's obvious why the bomb needed another mention.

 

 

“They're gonna -” and then Tanner does something and Baird screams. Screams and swings his free hand at the medic. He doesn't connect with anything - Cole's got him pushed down too much for his reach and the over swing feels like something tearing up his side and teeth shredding at his flesh.

 

He groans and pants, loses a moment of time, maybe a long moment, he doesn't know.

 

“I'm going to fucking kill you!” he growls at everyone with his eyes squeezing shut.

 

When he finally gets them open again Rojas is crouched beside Tanner, they're talking with serious faces.

 

_They're gonna know it didn't blow up_ _r_ epeats in his head and he doesn't know what it means but the words keep circling and menacing around so he says them out loud..

 

“They're gonna know it didn't blow up.” His voice sounds fucking atrocious now he finally speaks, like he's been gargling glass and gravel during his blackouts. “They're gonna be waiting for us.”

 

Baird doesn't know who they are - he's really fucking tired of not knowing shit - but Rojas looks sharply at him then towards the pumping station. It's weird that there's wires hanging out of it. There shouldn't be any there.

 

Weird.

 

Baird closes his eyes, he's so fucking sick of nothing making sense.  


“We gotta get out of here!” Gyules says again, twitching in and out of Baird's view.

 

Rojas looks to Tanner, but Baird misses whatever face Tanner pulls back at him.

 

“Give me a minute.” The medic says, eyes and attention back on Baird.

 

It's probably not good, but it's kind of a relief that he can't really feel what Tanner's doing any more.

 

Gyules steps back into his view, hands nervously playing with his lancer, eyes darting to each corner of the room like he's expecting grubs to come out of the fucking ceilling.

 

“We could leave him here, right?” He asks, voice scared and squeaking. “Come back after we got in contact with Command? When we got reinforcements?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I wish it was you that got hit too,” The words sound like Baird's standard fare, but it comes out as a groan, painful and too breathy. “Then we could leave you here, wouldn't have to listen to your crying and bitching neither.”

 

Baird shows his teeth at Gyules to show he's joking; though he's pretty sure he's not.

 

“Hey.” Cole's voice seems to take up space, over the two of them speaking, the way his body does when he wants people to stop being idiots and shut the hell up, it fills the room til there's no room for their heated bickering.

 

Baird expects Cole to look pissed, he often does when Baird gets into it with other people, like he was hoping that today was maybe the day that Baird could watch his fucking mouth and bite his tongue.

 

(Baird hates those days, those looks, because Baird can't keep his mouth shut, it isn't in him and why the fuck should he anyway?)

 

But Cole's disappointed look isn't there for Baird today. It's not even disappointment hiding in his pinched brow either.

 

_Huh._

 

Cole kind of looks like he wants to knock Gyules the fuck out. Baird flashes his favourite shit eating grin - the one that gets him punched more times that not – at the younger Gear; takes a special kind of idiot to piss Cole off that much.

 

“You wanna pick a fight with a man bleeding out?” Cole growls, all signs of good nature washed from sight.

 

“He started it.” Gyules says weakly - defensively, _lamely –_ like he doesn't know Cole's stance on the matter. Didn't matter who started it, whether by walking away or making it so the fucker quakes evermore at the thought of him, Cole ended fights.

 

“Shut the fuck up, Gyules, this isn't the asshole Olympics.” Rojas breaks in with a hard voice.

 

Baird feels almost bad, but it doesn't stop him from mumbling, “If it was, I'd win.”

 

Cole spares another glare for Gyules, it looks like his best _watch your fuckin step_ glare from Baird's angle.

 

Gyules makes a fish out of water gulping noise and his face is a blur of pale in the corner of his eye.

 

“It's okay. I'm fine.” Baird interjects, not really defending Gyules, more as an attack on the worry – the fear – thats creeping on his friend's face.

 

Cole's glare shifts to Baird – slightly softened, _slightly –_ but he just, well, _tries_ to snicker with amusement; but the movement just turns to sharp breaths of pain in his chest, so he shows his teeth at the Gear instead.

 

Cole doesn't look particularly mollified – but that might be because Baird accidentally continues with, “I'm good, I can't even feel it anymore.”

 

It doesn't help that Tanner the traitorous _asshole_ keeps giving these minute little shakes of his head, like he can't help but let everyone know that Baird was fucked.

 

Which. _Fuck you Tanner, you glorified fucking butcher,_ Baird isn't dying, he liked himself too much, he was too goddamned _useful_ to die for a shitty water pumping station that no one will ever know they should be grateful for.

 

(He's not an idiot he knows – he thinks he knows – he can't not die purely by force of will, but he also knows he maybe likes Cole more than he likes himself and Baird not being there – him _dying_ – was the exact opposite of what was good for Cole.)

 

“I'm not fuckin' dying.” He snarls at the tiny shakes of Tanner's head. “Fuck you.”

 

_I'm not fucking dying,_ he thinks, eyes getting heavy. He blinks them slowly, then again, and then thinks maybe he'll just keep them closed for a bit, have a bit of a rest.

 

 


	3. Cole

Cole likes Baird.

 

The guy isn't inheritably likeable; Cole knows this. Sometimes he thinks their meeting – those exact circumstances – are the only reason they are friends, the only reason each of them made the conscious effort to get to know the other. Seeing past Baird's surly asshole veneer to the not completely ill meaning but still surly asshole beneath.

 

Cole knows Baird could be good people – _is_ good people – even when his mouth is saying the sort of shit that makes Cole want to hit him in the jaw and not pull his punch.

 

The thing with Baird is, he's _scared,_ freaking terrified near as Cole can tell – not just the scared of dying that sweats out of every Gear - not the scared that most people can understand – but scared of everything. Scared of getting close to people, scared of losing those people he accidentally did get close to, scared of being abandoned by those same people.

 

In another life Baird could've been a quiet but amicable kid. Cole often imagines there was a time Baird might have actually been like that. Imagines a skinny quiet child wih big serious eyes, before he learnt that being an asshole was the only way he was ever gonna get any attention.

 

So Cole likes Baird, likes the fact that he does things for Cole when he's not thinking, likes that he never has to worry about his six because Baird's always got it. Likes the way Baird always seems almost aggravated by his own predictability when it comes to Cole.

 

Even likes the begrudging care he takes to keep the rest of Alpha up and running all the while loudly proclaiming that he hopes they all die so he can finally get someone competent to work with.

 

Baird had been a good lieutenant; not a great one perhaps, but good for his men, and while he'd lost the rank, he's held onto the way the person in lead is supposed to take care of his charges – no matter how much he might claim otherwise.

 

Cole likes that. Maybe likes that Baird kinda hates it even more if he's honest.

 

They're friends - best friends – until the bloody end (or until age puts a permanent ache in their joints and grey in their hair if Cole has any say in the matter)

 

All of this muddles in Cole's head as he holds the mess of metal and wires in one hand and his friend's armoured shoulder in the other.

 

Baird's not much conscious at this point, his lips are still spewing profanities every time his eyes slide open and he sees Tanner. Skin bleaching to paler shades of grey, head tilting towards Cole's grip, temple pressing against his wrist and forearm for whatever comfort it gained him.

 

That more than anything convinces Cole that the guy is mostly out of it. Baird shied away from most contact, always operated his own like a mission, did the thing – a quick clap on the back, hands shaking shoulders in jest, a punch to the chest – and backed the fuck out, always eyeing Cole like he was cataloguing his reaction, to see if Baird had done wrong, gone too far, see how it was received and how he could do it better or never do it again.

 

Cole doesn't know if he's ever seen Baird this – _fucked up – bad – hurt -_ out of it, and Cole's seen Baird concussed and damn near blown up. Worry sours in his gut with each of Tanner's little head shake, Baird's eyes slide closed and for a moment Cole's heart seems to stutter but Tanner doesn't look overly worried - no more worried than he already did – so Cole swallows his fear, tamps down on the glare he still wants to level at Gyules.

 

That worry stills the anger in his throat and on his tongue, stills his hands from turning to shaking fists when Tanner presses harder – hands sinking deep and bloody – and Baird's low annoyed swearing pitches high to a pained whine/sob, his head flying back, breath hitching through bared teeth.

 

(he's not conscious – can't be – Baird would rather grit his teeth and bleed out before being on display like this)

 

Baird's head half turns towards Cole, eyes making a valiant effort to stay open and find Cole's but he just scans the air in front of his own face – unseeing – drooping closed until his expression goes slack and his body follows like a puppet with its strings cut, a dead weight in Cole's arms.

 

 _He's not dead,_ Cole tells himself, _just passed out_.

 

His breath is still warm and damp on Cole's wrist – his blood still pumping in strong pulses between Tanner's fingers - but Rojas' hand is heavy on his shoulder, commanding him to get his head back in the game without saying a damned thing.

 

(Rojas was good like that)

 

Cole forces himself to stand – to let go of Baird – checks his ammo and lancer again as Rojas gathers them close.

 

“We've got to move. Get in contact with Command, call in our Raven and reinforcements.”

 

“Some engineers would be good.” Kelly says squinting around the room. “This place is gonna need some serious work to get back in order, and maybe check that these bombs aren't still gonna go boom.”

 

“First we've got to clear out any Locust waiting for us.”

 

With one ear on Rojas now he's finally decided to share his thoughts, Cole finds himself focusing on the piece of metal that Baird had dropped into his hand – _it's a detonator_ – Cole's mind whispers, just in cast he's forgotten how angry he is.

 

The pumping station behind them doesn't look so bad until he starts noticing the wires that shouldn't be there, the red that's smeared and dripping wetly over all the metal.

 

Like someone – _Baird_ _–_ had squeezed between the tight piping to get to something - _a goddamned bomb_ – while leaking a fair amount of blood - _bleeding out from a gut shot._

 

Cole feels his anger bubbling back up, not even sure who he's angriest with. Baird for running off and getting fucked up without him, or himself for letting it happen.

 

It's the sort of anger that grinds his teeth together and puts an awful ache in his fists; the sort of anger that's utterly useless right now.

 

So he files it away for later, later when Baird's pale ass doesn't look like its leaking out its last quart of blood, later when he can defend himself properly.

 

Sure, he _knows_ there's likely nothing he could've done, but that doesn't stop him from berating himself for not having Baird's back, for not being on the otherside of the collapsed ceiling, for not being where he was needed.

 

In the end he settles for just blaming the grubs – because all roads led to them anyway, every horrible _shitty_ thing in Cole's world could be laid down at the feet of the Locust. It's a familiar anger, one he's often tried to keep a lid on – there's enough angry assholes in the world, he has no intention on adding to that number, no matter how many of them are his friends.

 

Rojas finishes outlining their plan of attack when Baird rallies again with a low groan that sounds like half a retch.

 

Tanner sits back on his haunches, bloody hands resting on his knees. The look he gives Rojas is half hopeful, half mouth twisting without optimism.

 

“He's stable for now, we gonna move, not gonna be any time better then now.”

 

Rojas nods as Tanner looks back to Baird.

 

“You good to be upright?” Tanner asks Baird, bending down close.

 

“Yeah?” Baird's answer takes a beat too long to come, and his eyes squint distrustingly like maybe he thought he was already upright, but he _does_ answer and that's good enough for Cole.

 

“Right,” Rojas says, not waiting for Tanner to start shaking his head again. “Gyules, help Tanner. Kelly with me in front. Cole watch our asses. We take it steady and smart. Keep an eye out for ambushes or any more goddamned booby traps. These bastards are most likely gonna be waiting for us once we hit surface, so keep it tight and watch for cover.”

 

 

Kelly makes contact with Command as soon they hit the long winding service tunnels that they'd come through after the ceiling collapse; closer to the surface, with less heavy metal and concrete blocking the comms signal.

 

 

By the time they hit outside the sky is dully glowing with the oncoming day's light, and quiet of hour is broken by the thudding of Raven blades coming to aid.

 

That brief moment of relief at the thought of reinforcements is swiftly overtaken by an overwhelming barrage of fire from locusts awaiting the Gears exit.

 

 

 

With Baird balanced between them – face grey, mouth hissing barely audible curses - Tanner and Gyules drop down fast under the oncoming fire, resting the wounded Gear low behind cover.

 

 

 

Something hits him – lower leg - makes him stumble a step – two steps – before adrenaline kicks in and gets him to cover. He doesn't stop to look – to check the damage – just leans over and fires at the grubs blocking them from where the Ravens look to be choosing as their landing zone.

 

Reinforcement Gears from the bird hammer at them from further aside, coming in in the hard and fast pace of soldier fresh upon the battlefield.

 

“You okay, Private?” Rojas asks, voice steady but clear in Cole's ear.

 

“It's fine, Sergeant.” He replies, it's not a lie if he doesn't know.

 

Rojas looks down to where Cole's leg is throbbing, regardless of Cole's assurances, and starts swearing.

 

As his many variations of _fucks_ trail off Baird pipes up with a tired but snide “ _I concur, sir.”_ despite having no eyeline or knowledge on what has Rojas worked up.

 

Cole can barely hear the words over the sound of lancer fire but he grins all the same as he steadies his own lancer against the hard edge of concrete and fires another volley at the dug in grubs.

 

Beside him Kelly makes an aborted shout and blood splatters across concrete and armour.

 

A clean shot through the throat he'll find out later, but for now all Cole knows is Tanner's hands ripping off Kelly's helmet, hands moving fast as they assess, then slowing as he realises there's nothing to be done.

 

His headshake this time is final.

 

Tanner lets Kelly slump beside Cole, a weary sigh hissing beteen his teeth.

 

“I got it.” Cole says as Tanner moves to reach for Kelly again.

 

Tanner nods, looking away as he settles his lancer back into his shoulder and shoots off a burts of rounds with a deadeyed flat look gracing his face.

 

Cole pulls at Kelly's collar, fingers fumbling and finding the light but tough chain and pulling on it til cogtags come free.

 

“Sorry, buddy.” Cole mumbles as he snaps them free, the words quiet and unheard over the roar of battle going on around them.

 

They'll sit heavy on his person until he can pass them on to someone else to carry Kell'y name alongside every other fallen Gear's.

 

For that moment his leg doesn't hurt; blood pounding in his ears, the world around seems to slow then it clicks back into place and his hands are covered in his best friend's blood, the Raven is landing and his leg just really fucking _hurts_.

 

Rojas glares at everything and nothing as he tears his eyes from Kell's still form.

 

“All right. Tanner, Gyules, covering fire. Cole, you're gonna help me with Baird.” He pauses, not quite a question, but giving Cole time to say whether he can do it or not.

 

Cole nods grimly instead. He can do this.

 

Rojas' lips press together, angry and stressed, but he accepts Cole's answer.

 

“We're gonna push hard and fast to that Raven, get our boy loaded up and the regroup with the Gears on the other side.”

 

With a new plan in hand, the four of them move quickly; Cole moving over to where Baird is laying.

 

“Gotta get you up now, Baird.” Cole says, speaking quiet and crouching low.

 

Baird's eyes are glazed over and he's holding himself rigid against the low cover, still, as if any movement would be the last straw, but he nods, an arm rising towards Cole to help him up.

 

Rojas grabs Baird's other side, awkwardly balancing his lancer one handed so he can still fire off shots.

 

With a groaned curse from Baird and a volley of covering fire from Gyules and Tanner, the three of them move.

 

Covering the ground between them and the Raven is slow and aggravating, the new Gears and what's left of Alpha doing their best to keep the grubs away from them.

 

Cole's leg seems to barely holds his own weight but he pushes on, hauling Baird higher for a better grip. Rojas on the other side grunts with the adjustment but doesn't say anything even though he must have surely noticed he's carrying more of Baird's weight now.

 

Baird's head lolls against Cole's jaw, headbutting him with ever jolt and stumble. He's not making much noise anymore, which makes Cole's grip tighten, makes his teeth clench a lttle harder as they close in on the Raven. Baird's head bumps against him again but this time he makes a low questioning groan, head lifting to smack against Cole's jaw again.

 

“Cole?” Baird sounds like he's actually not sure what he's even asking for.

 

“I got you, baby.” Cole answers anyway, hitching Baird up again, worrying that his grip won't hold until they reach the Raven.

 

“I think I pissed myself.” He says in Cole's ear, tone slipping from confused to amused to annoyed, like that was the thing that was going to ruin his day.

 

For a moment Cole has no words.

 

Across from hims Rojas has a painful grin wrestling its way onto his face; finding dark humour in the moment as he hates himself for finding anything funny right now.

 

Cole looks down; Baird's pants are indeed wet, but with the uniform colour of wet blood flowing over blood stiffened fabric.

 

Cole swallows. It's _a lot_ of blood. A lot of blood that's supposed to be _in_ Baird, keeping him alive and surly.

 

“Well,” He says finally, voice cracking even as he pulls himself back together. “Not gonna let you live that down.”

 

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

Baird sounding so scandalised has Cole choking on an almost laugh.

 

“Gonna bring it up in front of all your girlfriends.”

 

Baird's groan this time is less from physical pain as he hisses out another horrified, “ _Shut the fuck up.”_

 

But the moment of joking seems to take whatever energy Baird had left, he goes quiet again, head once more dropping to listlessly bump against Cole's jaw.

 

The levity isn't much comfort, _but it's the principle of the thing,_ Cole thinks insanely as they get under the deafening blades of the Raven.

 

One of the Raven's crew helps him haul Baird up and into the bird, Baird's hand clawing at Cole's skin as he slips past. Finding no purchase on Cole's sweaty unencumbered forearm, Baird settles his grip on Cole's fingers, holding tight. Cole tries to yank them back; the sooner Baird is properly on board the sooner the Raven can take him back, the sooner he can get patched up and _be fine_.

 

Cole tries to untangle himself from Baird's sudden steel like grip, the fight unbalancing him as he places too much weight on his bad leg and it almost buckles beneath him.

 

Rojas' hand steadies him.

 

“Let him go, Corporal.” Rojas commands quietly, shaking Baird's grip from Cole more easily than Cole had thought possible. Cole's about to thank him when Rojas continues with. “He's going with you.”

 

“I'm good, Sergeant.” Cole says stubbornly, not wanting to leave when there's still Gears on the ground and Locust looking to kill them.

 

But his leg is starting to ache in the fierce way that means he can't be sure how long he's gonna remain standing once his adrenaline completely ebbs away.

 

“Get on that Raven, private.” Rojas voice is stone when he speaks again and there's only one real reply Cole can give.

 

“Sir, yes sir.”

 

 

 

The Raven's crewman has to put more effort than Cole would like to get his ass up into the Raven. His leg is almost completely useless now his body has decided to stand down, so when the Raven starts to lift off, the sudden movement has Cole stumbliing. He crashes down into place a little heavier and harder than Cole would have otherwise planned.

 

The noise seems to rouse Baird again as the Raven tilts, its pilot turning them towards Jacinto.

 

“Shit, you okay?” Baird asks, tone sincere even has his voice slurs, eyes rolling back to check on Cole for himself.

 

“I'm good baby, barely even grazed me.” Cole is quick to answer.

 

“You okay?” He asks again, eyes focused but set deep in his bloodless face.

 

He wants to laugh that Baird can ask Cole that when he looks like he does. But doesn't because he can see the look – fear – in Baird's eyes.

 

They don't have any last requests to give, no deeds or people to ask the other to look after or give last words to, but Baird's sure he's dying and while he's conscious, while he's still awake, he wants one last thing.

 

“I'm fine.” Cole says, giving his friend the reassurance Baird needs as he leans over to put some weight on where his hands lay on Baird's breastplate.

 

Cole pats against the dirty armour and says what he really hopes is true,

 

“We're gonna be fine.”

 

 


End file.
